1000 Days at the Chateau- chapter 6
by Jacqueline Boutade
Summary: Valentine spends time obliging Guy's two other friends, the Prince and Duke of Burgundy. She is less than happy about this but as the marquis has made it clear she will not attend the ball unless she 'pleases' his friends she does her best. Expensive jewels are only part of her reward...


One Thousand Days – Chapter 6 – Games

Valentine wasn't sure what to think. Her evening with Frederick had surprised her in many ways: so many thoughts that disturbed her. She did not want to see the marquis as she felt sullied by the experience, yet exulted too. How could she reconcile her feelings? She felt guilty, yet the marquis had commanded her to do as his friends asked. She had done exactly that, so she had done the right thing, yet she felt in her heart she had betrayed the marquis; that if he knew what had transpired he would discard her. Would Frederick tell him, would he tell the others? Was that part of their games: once she had done her duty with all of his friends would they sit at dinner and discuss her, share their experiences of her, pass judgement? She blushed to think of it. How would the marquis react?

A note came at noon, hand delivered by one of Frederick's pages. He thanked her for her time and commended her on her attributes, noting it was an experience he would cherish for many years. She hugged the note to her breast and placed it with her collection of notes from Guy in her music box. Perhaps she would need a separate box for other lovers?

But no other notes came that day and while she was sad to go to sleep yet again without a word from the marquis, it seemed the best. She would need time to compose herself after time with other men.

Prince Alexei Polonowski wanted to dine with her. His note requested her presence in his rooms for supper and then for breakfast in the small dining room the next day. Valentine was intrigued. She considered the prince the best dressed of the trio; his beauty more like a fallen angel than a man. His was a haughty male beauty born from his Russian background and nobility. He was tall and slender, fair and pale and walked as if the world should applaud his every gesture, his briefest comment.

His rooms were as elaborate and rich as the marquis, as befitting his status. His welcome was cordial but cool. His servant brought her to his rooms as the sun set. A small table was laid for an especially chosen meal: beluga caviar, salmon and strawberries with cream. He did not like champagne, favouring wine and vodka, from his own estates, which he had brought with him as a gift for the marquis.

'My servant will assist you with your dress,' the prince directed as Valentine went to sit down. She stood still, uncertain. The prince laughed. 'I want you naked at my table. I have heard so much about your breasts that I wish to dine gazing upon them. I am sure it will help with my digestion.' He smiled at her, directing his servant to undress Valentine.

The prince watched her throughout, noted her calm expression, as if perfect strangers undressed her every day, as if perfect strangers watched her being undressed. She sat at his table perfectly composed, as if nothing was amiss. She was gracious in her eating, her manners impeccable and her knowledge of Roman and Greek myths impressive. She spoke with a soft yet confident voice at just the right volume for the intimate atmosphere. She did not show off her knowledge but shared when pressed. Her breasts were golden in the candle light and bounced and moved as she spoke and ate. The prince was mesmerised and his servant struggled to pour the wine without spilling a drop. Other servants were called to remove and replace dishes and she sat unmoved by their stares or presence.

Once dinner was completed the prince's countenance changed and Valentine almost felt a chill in the room but the fire blazed and the servant stood obediently by. 'Now you will entertain me.'

'My lord?' She waited for his elaboration.

The servant placed a thick bear-skin rug in front of the fire. 'Lie down, part your legs, I want to look at your sex now.' He stroked his small beard with pleasure. 'You are lovely. I am pleased for Guy.' He gestured to his servant to come closer. 'Ivan, you look too.' She looked at the servant for the first time and realised he was not that old, perhaps five years older than herself. He reminded her of Rene, fine of face and slender of figure but not as handsome, as Sophie had expected. 'Would you like to fuck her, Ivan?'

The servant blushed, looked away, looked back at Valentine, shifted on his feet. 'Yes,' he mumbled.

'Then you may.'

Valentine stopped herself in time. She was to do as commanded, she was to do whatever the marquis' friends wanted.

Ivan seemed confused too. 'Here, sire?'

'Here and now, Ivan. It is your reward for faithfully serving me, for not spilling the wine, for your discretion and respect for my good self and our friend during dinner. But I will watch. You will take your pleasure in her and I will take my pleasure from that. But please, no talking. Moan, groan, but do not talk to her. She is very good with silence and with moaning I am told. I want to find out. Proceed.'

Despite his embarrassment at making love to Valentine in front of his master, Ivan acquitted himself well. He was vigorous and keen, and while not skilled he was rough and able and Valentine found it easy to moan, to cry out and to enjoy the situation. She caught the eye of the prince as she took the young boy into her and held his gaze. The prince held his hand on his lap, pressing down as Ivan took his pleasure with her. 'Again,' the prince commanded when they had finished. 'You are young, you have stamina. Again, you are to fuck her again.'

She was returned to her rooms after two am, a note with instructions pressed into her hand for her breakfast meeting with the prince.

The small dining room is only small in comparison to the main dining room which is large enough to seat two hundred. At the centre of the small dining room is a mahogany table able to seat ten. It had two central supports and is round. It sports a table cloth of thickness to absorb spills and stains and falls to meet the floor. At the side of the room is a sideboard with dishes and liquids, served by an army of servants. Breakfast can be brief or take all morning depending on who is in residence and what they desire from the kitchens.

Valentine was seated beneath the table, wrapped in the bear skin rug from the evening, hers to keep if she pleased him. It was cold on the stone floor and she welcomed the warmth of the white bear skin. She waited until all four men were at the table. She examined their footwear and positioned herself at the feet of the prince, with his golden slippers with the tiny pearls and crystals. She moved his knees gently apart on the chair, her hands gentle on his fine fabric. She found his flies and deftly undid them. His penis was slender and long as fell quickly from its enclosure. As she butterflied her fingers along the stem he moved in his seat, a tremor in his flesh and he thickened. With a few firmer stroke he was hard and she moved her mouth carefully to kiss him. She bent her head into the seat, into the prince's crotch so she would not bump her head on the table and draw attention to herself. She put one hand gently under his balls and tickled them softly while her other hand held his now fully erect penis to her mouth. She took him in her mouth, drawing her lips tight around him to hold him secure as she moved her head up and down his stem. She felt his body tense as he tried to keep still in his seat. She increased her tempo, now faster, and now slower, all the time her hand feathering his tight balls. She bit him lightly and felt him shiver. Then she felt his hand upon her head as he pushed into her mouth, once, twice, again and he had come in her mouth. He held her head there so she swallowed him, while he softened and wilted in her mouth. She stroked his balls a moment longer and then packaged him away to leave the table as if nothing had happened.

Her task complete she moved to a safe space under the table and curled into a ball until it was safe for her to leave. If the marquis caught her the prince would be severely displeased, so she would wait as long as she had to. She heard their conversations and laughter, their plans for the day and drifted into a strange semi-sleep, waiting, waiting to return to the peace and safety of her rooms.

Valentine slept for most of the day, tired from pleasing the prince, cold and aching from lying on the floor for two hours. She drew her curtains close and her bedding in tight and slept deep and dreamless. A note awaited her as she awoke. As with the duke it was a note of appreciation, although less effusive: 'When de Chatillon is through with you there is a room in my palace for you.' There was also a box, a long slender box which held a sapphire necklace. It was a series of small brilliant cut gems leading to a large cabochan cut gem at the throat. It was exquisite. She couldn't help but smile at his gift which exceeded the value of anything the marquis had given her. She thought of her conversation with Sophie, it is better to marry a prince or a duke? She wondered if it might be better to be the mistress of a prince rather than a marquis?

At the end of the week the final note came, although Valentine was not sure how long this game with the marquis' friends would continue: was it to be part of their sport until they left in a week's time? The Duke of Burgundy requested the pleasure of her company at the stables at ten after breakfast was completed. Sophie brought a costume especially selected for the occasion. A groom's set of trousers and work shirt, plus an unflattering hat.

Sophie held the garments up, showing her disgust. 'Perhaps we need to worry about the duke,' she said.

Valentine nodded, she was bemused and could only wonder at the peccadilloes of the marquis final friend. 'What I've noticed, Sophie, is that the aristocracy is different to us. In nearly every way. They think everything is all right. Nothing is beyond them. If they want it they can have it.'

Sophie nodded as she helped Valentine into the boy's clothes. 'I've heard stories, the servants' gossip, you know. They listen at table and then gossip in the kitchens. The marquis' friends tell terrible tales about themselves and their adventures.' She looked at Valentine sympathetically. 'I wouldn't be you, mistress, not with all your finery and lovely food; not for anything.'

Valentine took Sophie's hand, squeezing it. 'It's not as bad as they might say, Sophie. The marquis' friends have been more than kind to me.'

Sophie pursed her lips. 'Generous, mistress, they've been generous in paying for your favours. But if the stories are only half true then kindness is never going to be a word you can use to describe the nobility.'

Valentine left the house unnoticed on Friday morning, walking to the stables where her favourite horse was waiting for her. Rene smiled at her. 'I was asked to help. It's my other set of clothes,' he shrugged.

'I'll take care of them.'

'I know you will,' he said. 'What I worry about is that you don't take care of yourself.'

'I appreciate your concern, Rene, I really do but I have to do what the marquis asks of me. Like you, I exist only to serve him. I am contracted to him, to do his bidding.'

Rene nodded sadly. 'At least I get to spend most of my days with creatures who appreciate me, who do not order me around.'

She touched his hand softly. 'It would be lovely to be a horse looked after by you.'

Rene blushed. 'The duke is waiting for you at the first bridge.' He slapped the horse's rump and it set off at a canter.

Valentine felt pleased to be back on her horse, to be outside, no matter what the reason. The best thing about today's encounter was that, once she had pleased the Duke of Burgundy, she had fulfilled the marquis' command to please his friends, so it should be the last time with another man. She enjoyed her new gifts, gazing at them often, but she tried to avoid thinking about either of the men, how being with them made her feel, or how she now felt about the marquis.

Pierre, Duke of Burgundy was waiting by the first bridge, seated on a black stallion that only the marquis could ride. He was the most handsome horse at the chateau, Rene's favourite, and clearly well matched to the duke, who looked incredibly dashing atop the horse. They seemed to suit each other with their proud bearing and thick dark hair. The duke was smiling broadly as she approached. 'I think you need some fun,' he said. 'I heard you liked to ride and that our presence has curtailed that, so a simple pleasure for us, to begin. Let's be off then.'

They raced across pastures, past the cattle, past the vines down to the big wood that marked the great hunting grounds of the chateau. Valentine followed the duke along narrow paths towards the stream, where a clearing was set with a picnic. He dismounted first and grabbed her lightly from her mount and in one fluid motion placed her on the ground, kissing her quickly before she had caught her breath. He tethered the horses to a tree and let them settle to drink from the stream.

'Wasn't that good?' he asked, his eyes dazzling, his smile warm.

She nodded. 'I do love to ride, but I'm not allowed to ride like that, fast and free across the fields.'

He gestured to her clothes. 'It's because normally you're trussed up in a silly, but no doubt lovely, dress. This gives you a chance to ride like a man, to feel a horse between your legs as God intended. Your horse will know you better now. Do you not feel closer to him today?'

She nodded, smiling, enjoying this man's company, his understanding of simple things. She knew he would want more, but he had begun well, the day was sunny and fair and she was hungry.

'There is another reason for your clothing,' he winked. 'But let's dine first. I find riding always builds an appetite. And I need my strength for the afternoon.'

She was glad to find champagne amongst the comestibles, and drank her first glass quickly. Cook had exceeded herself with a ham pie, slices of cold duck, fresh bread, tomatoes, cheese and a lemon tart. Pierre loved to talk so it was easy to relax with him as he told tales of Paris and his travels across the continent, his time in Africa, how he came to be such an excellent swordsman. He was a lively story teller, often funny and depreciating. He was nothing like the other men and she wondered how they all came to be friends.

As she drained the last of the champagne in the afternoon sun, he looked at her seriously, taking her hand in his broad strong one. 'I am cheating, you know. I am like the others, I want you. I want you very badly.'

Valentine nodded. 'I understand.'

He looked imploringly at her. 'Do you want me too? I'd like you to want me too. It makes the whole business so much more pleasurable if both people want to make love. Do you want to make love too?'

Valentine nodded, the bubbles whizzing in her brain, the fresh air, thrilling her senses, the thought of sex with this man was pleasurable: she did want to make love with him. 'Yes, I do want it too.'

'Good girl, you have said exactly the right thing. Now you'll see the advantages of such simple dressing.'

In a flash she was naked and shining in the sunlight, her skin glowed and her hair shone in the sunshine. He loosened his shirt, undid his breeches. 'Come, put your hand here.' Pierre was a well built man. Of the four friends he was the tallest and strongest. His hair was the darkest and curliest, his smile dazzled women across the continent and his manhood was almost as renown as Casanova's. He also loved women. They were in the world to be enjoyed and to bring enjoyment too. Valentine felt the size of him and shivered.

'Kiss me there,' he said. 'But not for long.'

He led on his back, his head resting in his hands, his chest naked to the sky, his legs stretched, relaxed and invigorated as Valentine licked him. He moved a hand to caress her bottom and let it find its way to her sex, which was already wet and wanting. As before when he moved her from the horse, he lifted her up and settled her on him, letting her ease down onto his impressive manhood. She knelt above him, unsure of how deep he would go, how far into her he would penetrate. Slowly she eased down, finding herself opening to him as she moved him closer into her. She leant forward swinging her breasts in front of his face. He grabbed them with his hands. 'Your famous breasts. They are wonderful.' He squeezed and massaged them gently as she moved to rest on him.

'Grip me with your thighs,' Pierre instructed. 'I am your horse for you to ride, grip me firmly between your legs and move as if you are atop your mount, riding freely over the fields, your thighs controlling your steed, keeping him up to your pace, or slowing as you want. Move as if you are in the saddle, up, down, jostle happily there, feeling your horse responding to your desires.'

He sighed as she settled above him, moving her hips and body in a mesmeric rhythm, like the snake charmers he had seen at court when he was a boy.

'Good, that's good,' he said. 'Now I am going to hold your hips as I move into you. I want to do this slowly, I want this to last. I am your rider now. So you simply do what feels good for you. Move as you want, speak, moan, shout, cry. No-one can hear you, so you are free.'

He held her hips firmly, just as her thighs had gripped him. He wanted her open and tight against his body so she could not move away as he moved ever deeper into her. He took his time, measured his rhythm building his desire and hers. He watched her face, pink and bright from the heat deep within her. He thrust deeply and her lips flew apart, a wonderful moan escaping them. He moved quicker and deeper feeling her open wider with every thrust. Her eyes were closed but her lips quivered as she moaned and cried in a mix of pleasure and pain. He had her where he wanted her, she was his, she was ready. He held her yielding flesh in his strong hands pushing with increasing urgency into her darkest spaces. She stilled, tightened every muscle in her body, holding him still with the power of her emotion. Then, as she relaxed he came into her, sighing ecstatically as he did.

She fell forward onto him, exhausted, sated, crying. He wrapped his arms around her. 'It's all right,' he crooned. 'Everything is wonderful. You are magnificent.'

That evening a pair of diamond earrings were delivered to her room, one carat at the lobe and a two carat marquis diamond attached. She held them to her face, her eyes sparkling as much as the jewels. 'You are worth so much more than this,' said the note. 'I will find you again. Yours forever, Pierre of Burgundy.'

7

7 


End file.
